


The Way the World Ends

by olivieblake



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Smut, F/M, Forbidden Love, Oral Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8851090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivieblake/pseuds/olivieblake
Summary: It can only end badly.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [underthemistletoe](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/underthemistletoe) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> "Theo," Narcissa said, startled. "What are you doing here?"  
> "Waiting up for Santa," he replied, smirking. "Funny seeing you here."

* * *

  _This one shot is by Olivie Blake and is **not open for voting consideration**. It exists for the express purpose of giving us the Theocissa smut we all so desperately needed. A companion piece to the one shot "Not With a Bang." _

**o0o0o0o**

Narcissa took the stairs slowly, contemplatively; trying to draw meaning from each step, as though she might someday manage to sleep if she could only arrive at _something_. If she could only set her foot upon a landing of closure, she thought, she might ease the breath back to her lungs; she might return the root of meaning to her chest.

But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn’t true.

The thud of her heart was raucous and loud, an unforgiving reminder that she was still in _motion_ \- still expected to _live_ and _be_ and _function_ despite the vacancy in her soul. Draco had been missing for months now; Lucius nearly twice as long, despite his haunted presence in her bed. The Lucius of her memory - the husband she felt she'd buried in her past - wasn’t the same one beneath her fingers; the chasm between them had yawned and stretched and gaped until they scarcely recognized each other, and when his hollow grey eyes settled on hers, she only felt a stretch of tension in her spine, a longing of _remember when? - remember me? -_

But _nothing_.

She stepped through the doors of the ballroom, the enchanted sky twinkling jubilantly above her; a twisted incongruity. She eyed the corner of the room, where she might have put a tree if it had been a year ago. Would she have been preparing for a party if things had been different? Would she have worried about her hair, fussed over her gardens; would she have shouted frantic instruction at her elves, felt the swish of her gown across the floor; would she have ended the night with her husband? 

How much, then, had changed?

“Strange this way, isn’t it?”

The voice was smooth and cool - _intrusive_ \- and Narcissa whipped around, startled, bringing a hand to her chest.

“Theo,” she gasped, fighting to slow her pulse. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting up for Santa,” he replied, a touch of a smirk flitting across his lips. “Funny, isn’t it,” he commented, “running into you here.”

 _It’s only Theo,_ she told herself, searching for relief. _Just Theo -_

Only she still hadn’t caught her breath.

“The Dark Lord,” she ventured, channeling the iron in her will. “Has he called? Is that why you’re here?”

He paused, tilting his head to consider her, before taking a step.

“Narcissa,” he murmured, his green eyes scanning her face. “Isn’t your life dark enough without him occupying your every thought?”

She bit moisture to her lips, kept her eyes away from his. _Not my every thought._

“Are you okay?” she asked briskly, ignoring his implications. “Is everything - ”

She paused as he moved again, long strides gradually closing the distance between them. He caught up to her quickly; unsurprising, as she hadn’t moved, and she swallowed a haunted breath.

“ - alright?”

“I’ve already told you, haven’t I,” he said quietly, bending his head to look at her. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Of course I do,” she choked out, her breath turning violent. “You - you’re - ”

He reached out like he would brush a finger over her lips but paused his hand in the air, like he would catch her meaning in his palm; like he would caress it, covet it, and claim it for his own. She, reduced to silence, eyed his steady hand and marveled - _how,_ she thought, _how can he hold still when I’m -_

“I’m what?” he prompted, an unsettling glimmer of something savage, something hungry in his eye; there was a flicker of greed there, an unbending oath, and it was a hunter’s calculated promise of _I see you,_

_And I want you -_

_And you’re mine._

She shut her eyes, fighting it; how effortlessly she was made prey.

“Stop,” she whispered. “You know that I - ” She broke off. “You know that _we_ \- ”

Even with her eyes closed, she felt him smile.

“Narcissa,” he said, his hands finding their way to her waist, his steady hands atop her shaking pulse; his touch was both a lick of comfort and a breath of tragedy, a concert of devastation and wrongs and _this can only end badly -_

“Stop,” she said again, more forcefully this time, “stop all of this. Stop looking at me.”

“Stop looking at you?” he echoed, his laugh a breath in her ear, and she felt a curl of fury at that.

“You know what I mean,” she snapped, opening her eyes. He met her gaze unabashedly, unrelentingly, and with the foolish disregard for danger that only he possessed. _Don’t you see,_ she wanted to rage, boiling over; _don’t you see the signs we’re meant to run?_

“Stop looking at me,” she said again, “stop _touching_ me - ”

“I haven’t touched you yet,” he interrupted. “Believe me, I’m aware.”

“You’re touching me now,” she warned, watching his fingers spread possessively over her hips.

“Not yet,” he said again. “Not like I’d like to.” He leaned forward, his breath skating across the line of her neck.

“Not like I plan to,” he whispered, and she cursed her knees as they buckled.

He caught her, a strong arm around her waist, and she, helpless, braced herself against his chest. Her hands were curled into fists - _violently_ , like she would fight her way out; but _stupidly,_ because she would never try. He was the only thing holding her together and so she let her head fall against his shoulder, half a defeated sob ripping its way from her throat as he lowered his lips to the line of her neck, brushing them against her skin.

“Narcissa,” he sighed into her hair, the warmth of it tingling against her ear, trouble and temptation. “Tell me you want this.” He reached back, tangling his fingers in her long blonde hair, pulling her head back to look at her. “Tell me you want _me_ ,” he said, his eyes traveling, spellbound, to the curve of her lips.

 _Want,_ she thought in wonder, in breathless captivity. How long had it been since such a thing had coiled itself inside her; and then _worse,_ how long had it been _clawing its way out_ -

“Please,” she begged; half to him, half to herself. “Please, _stop_ \- ”

“Stop,” he repeated, and there was a hint of mirth to the concept, to the way he toyed with the word. “You want me to stop?”

“You have to,” she said, “you _must -_ ”

“And you,” he countered, looking down at her, a desperate misery etching itself into the bright, roguish lines of his face, “you’d put that responsibility on me?”

She realized she had spread her fingers against his chest, had claimed him, had fitted herself against him; had leaned into the curve of him -

“Even you’re not so cruel, Narcissa,” he admonished, and relaxed his hold, putting a cool breath of distance between them.

“Wait,” she gritted out desperately, the word yanked from her lips and forced through her teeth, and he laughed again; softer this time, a hint of intimacy to it, a penitent confession. Like he was _sorry,_  she thought, and perhaps he was; and perhaps it was _I know that it’s wrong_ -

_But still, let me live with my sins -_

“I’m done waiting,” he growled.

He pressed her back against the wall, slamming her against it; if she’d hoped the impact might shake some sense of reason back into her brain she was hopelessly wrong, contemptuously wrong, pointlessly, impossibly _wrong -_

She’d be lying if she hadn’t thought about it, about the way his lips would feel on hers; she’d be a liar a thousand times over if she didn’t confess that she had _wondered_ -

If she didn’t confess that she had felt the heat of his gaze; that it had warmed her to her core and lit, and sparked, and _flamed_ -

He was a _man_ , after all, the once-coltish thing before her whose angled jaw had sharpened, whose careless stubble scraped against her cheek; he was unrecognizable, and as he tore her breath from her parted lips she let him take it, conscious of the way his touch burned against her skin.

His kiss was molten; a frenzied heat that was cooled by the way he took his time, a smooth calculation of motions. His thumb slid across her throat, the pressure of his touch like he could slice the life from her but _wouldn’t_ , would _never_ \- and his lips were reverent, exultant, his movements subtle and controlled.

He pinned her shoulders back and pulled away, his eyes raking over her; she’d felt so many waves of fear but _this_ , the possibility of his absence - _another vacancy,_ she thought, and then, desperately, _don’t go_ \- was an icy douse of it, at the thought that maybe he had changed his mind, maybe she wasn’t as he had imagined, _maybe she hadn’t_ -

“Turn around,” he rasped, and like she’d been Imperiused, she did, placing her hands against the coldness of the wall as he stepped towards her again. He moved her hair to the side, sliding it away from her back - she closed her eyes, the movement prompting a shiver - and bent to press his lips to the top of her spine.

She felt the zipper come undone, slowly, rapturously, the airy coolness of his touch replacing where fabric had been until the garment draped against her waist; he slid his thumbs along her shoulders, luring the sleeves down the length of her arms, and with a final shudder the gown pooled at her feet.

He put his hands on her waist and bore down for a moment against her - he brought his lips to her shoulder and then, thinking better of it, sank his teeth in, prompting a gasp - and then turned her to face him, capturing her faint _ahh_ of surprise between his lips.

“I,” she whispered, her hands finding their way to the buttons of his shirt, “I want - ”

She couldn’t bring herself to say the words; but still, he seemed to understand, tearing his shirt open and pressing himself against her.

“You want to feel me,” he said, and she bit back a moan as he brought her hands to his chest, sliding her palms down the channels of his abs, the impossibly sleek lines of him. “So _do it_ \- ”

“I’m yours,” he breathed in her ear, and then, in a stunning contradiction, he roughly forced her knees apart, bringing his hand to her cunt and burying two fingers inside her.

She gasped, her nails digging into his sides as he slid his fingers in and out, lowering his head to her breasts; he licked her nipple through the delicate lace of her bra and then lightly grazed his teeth against it, lowering himself until he was on his knees, his fingers still inside her as he kissed his way down her abdomen.

He shifted, fitting himself against her and she lifted one leg, tossing it carelessly over his shoulder as he brought his mouth to her clit, shifting the thin fabric aside to devour her, the flicks of his tongue growing deeper, more intense, more brutally hungry until he’d torn the garment away from her. He angled her hips, burying his tongue inside her and she, enraptured, let her head slam carelessly against the wall, gripping his hair as the throbbing whorl inside her built and tightened and crashed and _oh, god_ -

She bit her lip, tasting blood as her legs shook, coming undone around him. He stood, fumbling for his trousers and she, too far gone to be humiliated by her need, hastily moved to help him, knocking his wrists aside as she slipped a trembling hand inside the band of his clothing, feeling the smoothness of him against her palm. He choked out a gasp then, and she, despite everything - despite the signs that she _should have run_ \- let the corners of her lips twist up in a smile.

“Don’t toy with me,” he begged hoarsely, and she pulled him roughly against her.

“You want to feel me,” she whispered, “so _do it -_ ”

He threw an arm around her waist and lifted her, his fingers digging into her arse as she wrapped her legs around his hips; he clapped a hand over her mouth as he filled her, capturing her moan of satisfaction between his fingers as he thrusted into her -

“Narcissa,” he rasped, replacing his hand with his lips and _god,_ she was already close, _fuck -_

“Say my name,” he breathed, so quietly that she might not have heard him had something not screeched its opposition inside her head.

 _No,_ she thought frantically, _no -_

_Don’t you see the signs we’re meant to run?_

“Say it,” he demanded, his motions faster now, the ache inside her mounting. “Say it.”

_No, no, no -_

But _fuck_ if he wasn’t perfection - _fuck_ if he wasn’t everything she desperately craved, smooth and carved and firm beneath her shaking hands -

“Narcissa,” he sighed again; a plea this time. He was close, she could tell, he was _lost_ -

_Say it -_

“Theo,” she gasped, the name clawing free from her throat and burying itself in his mouth, a sigh and a struggle all at once. He threw back his head, pain and pleasure intertwining in a breath.

“Say it again,” he panted, “say it again - ”

And it always came out in a gasp, revealed itself in a whimper.

“Theo - ”

He picked up speed, raising her arms over her head and pinning her wrists to the wall.

“ _Again_ \- ”

“Theo, oh god, _Theo -_ ”

He pressed his lips to hers, slamming into her a final time as they both unraveled, the torment of what might have been screams in another world - in another _life_ , with fewer signs of danger - convulsing between them, breathless exultation that melted instantly to _this can only end badly, this can only end in pain -_

 _This can only end_ and _wrong, wrong, wrong_ and _sin or not, this has to -_

“Stop,” she lied, and his arms tightened protectively around her.

“Never,” he promised, and she sighed her abhorrent relief, her wretched contentment.

He held her like the world was ending, she realized - and in a breath, she wondered if perhaps it was.

“Happy Christmas,” she murmured, feeling foolish and empty and _wrong_.

She felt him smile. “Happy Christmas” - he twisted around, his lips against her ear -

“ _Narcissa_ ,” he whispered, as he grazed his teeth against her neck.

**Author's Note:**

> A REMINDER THAT THIS ONE SHOT IS NOT OPEN FOR VOTING CONSIDERATION. It is, however, gifted to fellow admins goldensnitch18 and oblivionbaby, who deserve all the Theocissa smut.


End file.
